


picture's worth

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Frain - Freeform, M/M, but just in general, mentions of eating issues, not francis's or toni's, supermodel/photographer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis Bonnefoy is a supermodel who has left France because of the pressure on models to look as if they are in the negative sizes. Antonio Fernandez-Carreido is his new photographer, who has very unorthodox methods of photography. </p><p>Or, Francis falls in love with Antonio on first sight, and Antonio fell in love with Francis because of hearsay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	picture's worth

**Author's Note:**

> Posted here from my tumblr, sumofsam. Unedited.

Francis couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. This was his first shoot since coming to Spain, not to mention this was a photographer he hadn’t heard of yet. In an effort to look more composed than he felt, he sat leisurely on a flimsy wicker chair provided for him, though it was quite uncomfortable and creaked with every movement. Had he been heavier, he might have been worried he’d break it, though he wasn’t sure he’d have that thought if not for the modeling industry… Part of the reason he’d left Paris may have been the increasingly high demand for models that were far too thin and Francis loved varied body types (and his own body) too much to live in that type of area. 

So, he’d moved to Madrid. 

And now he was waiting on this… Antonio Fernandez Carreido to photograph him, and Francis wasn’t sure if he was ready. The models that had left before him had been blushing something awful, and that either meant the photographer was incredibly attractive (unlikely) or had embarrassed them. 

Still, Francis had been modeling for years, so he wasn’t worried about his performance—er, too much, that was. What if Madrid was more difficult than Paris? 

Just as Francis was starting to fret, however, the door to the office opened, and a man stepped through, back first and dragging what seemed to be an entire cart of supplies. Props, cameras, outfits—everything Francis could think of from the top of his head. 

Before he could speak up or introduce himself however, the photographer turned, and now Francis really was scared he’d break the chair, because his sudden movement made him jolt. 

Evidently this Antonio really was just incredibly attractive. Francis’s heart caught in his throat for a moment, and he suddenly felt immensely under-dressed. 

A warm smile was directed his way (oh, god), and a hand was extended towards him. “Hello! I’m Antonio, Antonio Fernandez Carreido, but I’d prefer it if you called me Toni. You’re Monsieur Bonnefoy, right?”

"Call me Francis," the Frenchman said, more blurting it than anything else. To regain his composure, he cleared his throat then met Antonio’s hand halfway and gave a proper handshake. "After all, you want me to call you Toni, oui?"

Antonio smiled again—and god, Francis wished just for a moment he was the photographer instead so he could capture that smile forever—then pulled out of the handshake. “Sounds fair. Some models are a lot more picky, so it’s better safe than sorry! Now, you’ll be taking pictures for the spring collection, si? Si. That means you need to smile!”

Francis, having been in the industry long enough that he was most used to giving neutral or holier-than-thou or simply ‘intense’ expressions, couldn’t help but raise a brow. “Ah… Excusez-moi? Would you, ah, repeat that?”

It seemed like Toni was used to this kind of wariness, because he laughed a little. “Oh, it’s just what I tend to prefer as a photographer. A lot of models have to do such serious photo-shoots, but I prefer things that are a little more upbeat. Is that alright? You can frown if you really want to, but most people end up having enough fun that they smile anyways.”

In all, from the props on the cart and the instructions and the innocent look on Toni’s face (how old was he? Surely not that much younger than Francis, yet he looked so full of life!), Francis wondered if he was new to photography.

Yet, if he was really that new to it, he must have been a prodigy, else he wouldn’t be able to book high-end models. 

So, Francis decided to trust him. 

"Non, non," he started, shaking his head. "I’ll do whatever you’d like. It’s just different, that’s all." 

Antonio smiled, that same warm one as before, and Francis wondered why it felt some someone had just turned on another light somewhere in the room. “That’s good! From your online profile it looked like you’ve been modeling for a long time, so I wasn’t sure if you’d smile. You look so serious in all your pictures, you know?” He paused a moment, and then the sweetest shade of pink appeared on those tan cheeks of his before he continued: “I was wondering, you know, how your smile looked. I didn’t see any genuine ones in your entire gallery… You had some, sure, but none I could really believe. So! Let’s see if we can’t find your smile.” 

Soon afterwards, they started with the shoot, and Francis found it wasn’t hard to find a smile for Antonio. 

The other was definitely new to the business, but despite the sometimes naive instructions, he inexplicably trusted him to get nothing but good shots. The poses were very different from ones in Paris, and he didn’t have to angle himself to look as thin as possible, and there were no demands for him to sit in a sexualized position. Instead, Antonio photographed him more casually, seating him comfortably in some of the arm chairs, handing him a prop or two, or setting him up in a rather cheesy shot with an umbrella and sprinklers going off. It was a bigger set than Francis had initially thought, but Antonio put it to good use. 

After the shoot was over, Antonio likewise did something a bit strange in that he invited Francis over to see the pictures. 

There were at least a hundred pictures on there, and Francis couldn’t help but think they were quite lovely. Some of them were zoomed into his face and the smile on one of them surprised him. It looked so genuine, and his sharp cheekbones (for once) didn’t look odd in a captured smile. 

As Francis was looking with him, Antonio spoke up. 

"I have a confession to make… I took a lot more pictures than I was supposed to." He sounded sheepish, but Francis didn’t mind—not to mention, the other’s tone was like honey on his ears, and he tried not to let it show. 

Still, that was a rather odd thing to say. “Eh, did you… find it hard to get a good picture? Sorry about that, I’m not used to—” 

"Oh, no, no, it wasn’t that at all," Antonio cut him off. "It was… Well. Ah, I didn’t want to admit this, but I specifically requested my boss for you. You… Well, the reasons why you left Paris… I have to say I was inspired." 

Francis blinked, surprised. To be honest, he hadn’t known that news had spread even here, to Madrid. He had left because of the increasing pressure put on male models to look less muscular and thinner, and thinner, and while Francis had always been almost effortlessly the latter, he had left when the demands were starting to effect both himself and those around him. 

After a fight with his manager, a stodgy old British man, younger than him, named Arthur Kirkland, he’d been reluctantly given Kirkland’s blessing to head elsewhere. Elsewhere had been Madrid. 

And, well. 

Last he heard, that had ruffled a few feathers in Paris, but for the news to spread to Madrid… Idly, he hoped Kirkland wasn’t having to deal with too many headaches back in London, where he’d returned after Francis’s departure. 

"You heard about that?" Francis finally replied, looking a little guilty. 

Antonio nodded, patting him on the shoulder. “Mm, and I thought it was one of the nicest modeling stories I’d heard in a while. When I heard you were coming to Madrid, well, what else was I supposed to do but ask my boss if you could come by here? We don’t usually have models of your caliber, but…” 

"You could easily," Francis interjected. "I think it’s rare for a photographer to be able to capture pictures like that. So many focus on serious things because it’s easy, and they look down on anything that uses more than the most minimal clothing and props. You make it look energetic, not just somber and grey." 

For some reason, that put another little blush on Antonio’s face, and Francis couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps the other was feeling some of the feelings he was. —And, come to think of it, he’d mentioned earlier that he’d looked through a huge portion of Francis’s available profile pictures, and that wasn’t quite normal. Maybe Antonio found him just as breathtakingly gorgeous as Francis found Antonio. That seemed to be quite a feat given that Antonio seemed almost Adonis-like, with his strong frame and easy smile, but it wasn’t as if Francis was a stranger to people finding him beautiful—he was a model, after all. 

After a quiet, ‘thank you,’ from Antonio, Francis decided to give it a shot. 

"Say," he started, smoothing down his jacket front. "I was wondering, you see, about some of the sights in Madrid… I haven’t been here very long, and, well. I hear it’s quite pretty." 

"Oh! You’ll have to see the Royal Palace, of course, and maybe one of the parks, I can’t remember the name, and la Puerta de Alcalá, its a pretty famous city gate," Antonio started, rattling off a few more on his fingers before his eyes suddenly got big and he cut off with a quiet, "Oh." 

Not wanting to embarrass him for not noticing till now, Francis just smiled a little and offered, “How about we see some of them together?” 

Antonio’s face lit up with a smile that was somehow even brighter than some of the ones before, and he got a business card out of his pocket, circling a number near the bottom. “Si, si. I have another appointment in just a minute so I can’t stay long, but… You can call me, si?” 

Francis matched the smile, though he doubted it was half as bright as Antonio’s. “That would be perfect,” he said before kissing him on both cheeks and pulling away. 

As they parted ways, Francis kept the business card safely in his wallet, not bothering to wait more than a few minutes before texting the number listed. When Antonio replied back later that afternoon, Francis found himself more preoccupied with the conversation than with the Madrid sun or the beautiful plaza he was sitting in. 

There were prettier things to focus on right now, after all, and he didn’t want to miss a moment.


End file.
